Free Heads You Lose by Lisa Lutz Page B

talking to the cops didn’t have dilated pupils or a mysterious arm wound. How about you take the truck, I stay here and answer questions?”
    She threw the rope back over to Paul’s side. “But I called ,” she said, plainly. “They know I’m here.”
    “Uh, good point.” Paul didn’t do his best thinking in the middle of the night. “Okay . . . but don’t tell them I’m with Terry. Tell them . . . I have a new girlfriend up in Tulac.”
    Lacey just gave him a raised eyebrow. It was the middle of the night, they were tying down an illegal load before the cops arrived, and her headless ex lay a few yards away, but some reflexes were automatic under any circumstances. “Hmm,” she said.
    “What!? I could actually have one up there now, for all you know.”
    “You’re right. My bad.”
    “What about your arm?” Paul said, pointing at the bloody bandage peeking out from the sleeve of her new baseball jersey.
    “I’ll think of something.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Paul said. “Just stay calm.”
    “I am calm. You have to go now.”
    Paul took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “We’ll get through this.”
    He got in the truck, took off down the hill, and turned away from town. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t want to pass a sheriff’s cruiser on the way.
    Lacey sat on the porch swing for a while, not rocking, just thinking about how this could have happened. Back in high school, all Hart seemed to need was to make her laugh. He used to do impressions of anyone in town on command. Terry Jakes was her favorite, followed by Sheriff Ed and Paul. For the past few months, every time she went to town, she expected to run into Hart. Half hoping, sometimes. Now that would never happen. After a while, she got up, went inside, and put a sweatshirt on to hide her wound.
     
     
    “Not so lucky after all, I guess,” said Doug the deputy, leaning as close as he could to the body’s crude clover tattoo.
    “Jesus, Doug, Hart’s dead,” Lacey said. “You knew him.”
    It had been well after four by the time he’d arrived, giving Lacey a solid half-hour alone with Hart. After Doug had taped off the crime scene, she’d told him the basics—how she knew it was Hart (the tattoo), but didn’t know what he was up to lately. She hadn’t seen him since spring.
    She figured she’d probably have to repeat the story later to Ed or some other higher-up. Hopefully that would be the end of it. She went with the truth.
    “Sorry. I’m not exactly used to this kind of thing,” said Doug, who had already demonstrated that fact with some vigorous barfing around the side of the house as soon as he’d come within smelling distance of the body.
    “So, who gets called in for a thing like this?” Lacey asked.
    “Everybody, I guess,” said Doug. “Ed should be here any minute. The crime-scene guy is coming down from Orendale.”
    Lacey guessed that Sheriff Ed had instructed Doug to not fuck anything up, and above all not to touch the body. He’d succeeded on the second count, at least.
    “Where’s your brother?” Doug asked.
    “Up in Tulac. At his new girlfriend’s place.”
    “How about that!” Doug said. “Good for him.”
     
     
    Later, Lacey watched from the porch swing as Sheriff Ed finally showed up, just beating the sun. He gave her a sad little wave from across the yard, then went about checking out the body and its surroundings. Deputy Doug handed Ed his notepad and the sheriff proceeded to ask Lacey all the questions over again and a few more. Doug didn’t seem to notice that his work was being redone. He pulled out another notebook and copied down the sheriff’s interview verbatim. Lacey wondered why the sheriff had even allowed Doug to be first on the scene.
    She knew Hart had some history with Sheriff Ed, and what Hart had told her about it was probably the tip of an ugly iceberg. With Hart, that was usually the case.
    “Lacey,” he said, with an